For over a decade, Chicago Fire has been a reliable anchor in the One Chicago universe, delivering weekly doses of adrenaline, heroic rescues, and the comforting camaraderie of Firehouse 51. The early seasons, in particular, were lauded for their gritty realism, complex moral dilemmas, and the tight-knit “family” dynamic that made the show feel authentic and deeply personal.
But somewhere along the line, the flames flickered.
For long-time viewers, the show’s journey hasn’t always been a smooth ride. In recent years, a collective sigh of frustration has echoed across fan forums, social media, and Reddit threads. It’s the kind of exasperation that only comes from genuinely loving a show and feeling like it’s subtly, yet surely, betraying its original promise. Finally, it’s time to say it out loud: the so-called “tumultuous years”—roughly seasons eight onward, marked by significant cast exits and shifts in storytelling—have fundamentally changed the show, and not always for the better.
The Revolving Door: When Firehouse 51 Became a Train Station
Perhaps the single greatest catalyst for fan disappointment has been the massive cast turnover. Chicago Fire is an ensemble drama built on the stability and long-term relationships of its core characters. When key players depart, the foundation of the series shakes.
The exits of beloved OGs like Gabriela Dawson (Monica Raymund) and Matt Casey (Jesse Spencer) left gaping holes in the emotional architecture of the show. While some departures were organic—reflecting actors moving on to new opportunities—the cumulative effect has been a sense of instability that makes it difficult for viewers to invest in new faces. Characters like Otis (Yuriy Sardarov) were given heartbreaking, high-stakes departures, a fitting end for a first responder, but even that gut-punch of a loss felt like a turning point, signaling that no one was safe.
The constant need to introduce, develop, and then write out new characters—from Foster and Mackey to Gallo, Ritter, and Carver—has created a narrative treadmill. Fans become wary of getting too attached, assuming the new face will be gone within a few seasons. This high-frequency churn undermines the core theme of Firehouse 51 as a “found family,” turning it instead into a temporary workspace where goodbyes are more frequent than promotions.
The Story Slump: Repeating Plots and Missing Stakes
As the series has aged, a significant complaint has been the perceived decline in writing quality and originality. The dramatic tension often feels recycled or, worse, manufactured.
Endless Relationship Drama
The most glaring criticism has been the writers’ over-reliance on internal romances and love triangles to generate drama. In the later seasons, character growth often seems secondary to who is dating whom.
- Sylvie Brett’s arc, in particular, became a source of annoyance for many fans. Despite her considerable professional skills—developing the paramedicine program—her storylines frequently reverted to her complicated love life, often to the exclusion of other meaningful development. The controversial pairing of Brettsey (Brett and Casey), while eventually accepted by some, initially felt forced and “icky” to a vocal segment of the fanbase, largely because of the dynamics involving Dawson, Brett’s former best friend.
- The enduring power couple Stellaride (Severide and Kidd) has also been subjected to “will they/won’t they” and “will they break up/will they stay together” drama, including a polarizing storyline where Severide abruptly went on an extended leave without clear communication. For a mature, married couple, these contrived obstacles often feel more frustrating than compelling, leaving viewers to joke that the writers simply don’t know how to keep a couple happy for an entire season.
The “Fire Cop” Trope and Trivial Antagonists
Another common grievance is the cyclical nature of other storylines:
- Kelly Severide’s recurring role as “Fire Cop.” While his arson-investigation skills are central to his character, too many plots have seen him drift from his primary role as Squad Lieutenant to become an unofficial detective, often pursuing predictable, one-off antagonists. This detaches him from the daily firehouse routine, which is where his character truly shines.
- The drama often stems from outside antagonists or internal bureaucracy—a corrupt chief, a rival firehouse, or an auditor looking to cut staff. While these elements add conflict, they occasionally overshadow the genuine, life-or-death stakes of the firefighting calls themselves, making the internal politics feel tedious.
Character Stagnation vs. Forced Development
The evolution of the remaining original characters has been inconsistent, leading to a feeling of stagnation or forced development.
On one hand, characters like Christopher Herrmann have benefited from deep, relatable arcs—from struggling family man to successful Molly’s owner and experienced leader. His journey, alongside Mouch, represents the stable, heart-of-the-house foundation that keeps the show grounded.
On the other hand, some fan critiques point to perceived character assassination or implausible promotions:
- Stella Kidd’s rapid ascension to Lieutenant was applauded by many, but the subsequent storyline where she temporarily abandoned her friends and the “Girls on Fire” program after getting engaged felt strangely out of character, designed only to create internal conflict with Severide.
- Veteran characters who remain on the show are sometimes relegated to comic relief or side plots, seemingly because the writers struggle to generate high-stakes professional narratives for them without having them leave the firehouse altogether.
The show’s great paradox is that its dedication to keeping the “family” together means it often struggles to give its loyal, long-running characters new stories that are as compelling as the early seasons. They’ve survived too much trauma to feel truly threatened by a new chief or a minor scandal.
The Unspoken Truth: A Plea for Focus
What fans are truly saying when they complain about the tumultuous years is a plea for a return to basics. The magic of Chicago Fire was never about sensationalist crime plots or predictable love-square rotations. It was about the bond of Firehouse 51.
It was about the heart-stopping calls, the grim reality of loss, and the dark humor needed to cope. It was about Severide and Casey’s brotherly rivalry and respect; about Dawson and Shay’s unbreakable partnership; about Boden’s unyielding leadership.
The show’s writers, as showrunner Andrea Newman has commented, are aware of the need to keep things fresh and real, drawing inspiration from the actual CFD. But as the number of beloved departing characters grows, and new relationships fill the void, the emotional investment required of the audience becomes a tougher sell.
To thrive, Chicago Fire must lean back into the professional lives of its heroes—the high-stakes rescues, the difficult choices in the field, and the deep-seated trauma that comes with the job. Give the remaining OGs professional challenges worthy of their experience, and give the new characters meaningful arcs that don’t just revolve around a hook-up.
Because when the alarm sounds at Firehouse 51, we want to see heroes rushing into danger, not running into another exhausting, contrived soap opera. That’s the truth we’ve all been thinking, and it’s what might just save the show from running out of steam entirely.
